by Elara Skye
She dragged her gaze over to it. “That one there?”
What other one is there? “Yes.”
There was fear in her eyes. “What if it doesn’t take me?”
“It will.”
“But...” Alice murmured. “They always said it doesn’t take people like me.”
“Who said that?”
“Everyone.”
“I sincerely doubt you’ve done anything to deserve that.”
He could tell that from a single glance at her soul. It was as tarnished and beaten as any other person’s—granted, a bit too much for someone her age—but it was hardly putrid enough to be denied peace.
“I....” she murmured. “I did do something terrible, though.”
“Why don’t you tell me what it was?”
“I jumped.”
“Jumped?”
“Yes.”
Jumped, as in—
“You took your own life?” he asked.
Alice stared off into the light without answering. When the realization sunk in, Finn pitied the girl. She was so young. Too young to have such condemning thoughts drilled into her mind. As if humans understood a thing about sin and violation.
“Is that why you’re still here? Are you afraid to try and move on?” When she said nothing, Finn sighed. “Go on. Nothing will stop you.”
“But—”
“I know what you’re thinking, but you’re wrong,” he interjected softly. “You weren’t given the help you needed in life. You won’t be denied that help again. Your wrongs are forgiven; you may move on.”
Alice’s jaw slackened a bit, guilt rising to the surface in your eyes. “I can?”
“Yes.” He nodded toward the light. “Go on. I’ll be here if anything happens.”
She didn’t look like she believed him. Even when she finally stepped toward it, Alice still looked unconvinced. It wasn’t until she drew nearer to it that the fear in her expression began to drain, replaced by the warmth of the light. Alice paused, looking back at Finn from over her shoulder. He stood and watched motionlessly, wearing an encouraging grin, and waited as she continued without a word. The light shone through her silhouette, and she disappeared with its final throes of life—accepting her with its last breath.
Told you. Finn smirked.
Darkness fell over him, broken only by the sparse rays of moonlight streaming in from the windows. Even within the Ether, spirits and objects could still cast shadows, and the contents of the museum certainly cast tall ones.
Finn turned to leave, stopping in his tracks at the shadow that moved with him along the ground—his own—and an idea sprang to mind.
Chapter Nine
“Why are we doing this, Finn?” Alaric scowled as they roamed through an abandoned farm. “Because some kid spirit told you something that may or may not be true?”
Finn understood his disconcertion—the aversion to getting involved with the Shadow People. “If there’s nothing wrong, then there’s no harm done,” he said. “If there is something wrong, then we’re bound to have this meeting sooner or later. I pick sooner.”
The cold of winter aided the deadness of the farm, their footsteps being the only sound that permeated the space. It was uncomfortable, even for Finn, but there was a reason that the Shadow People lived in secluded areas. They were sentient creatures with a dislike for human beings, and nothing good ever came from their presence among them—they were one of the lowest classes of spirits, thus easily perceived by humans as well. An angel could hide his or her presence entirely as they pleased—a shadow person didn’t have the same degree of control.
Their overall repugnance was in their trade—the trade of information.
Angels hated them for it. Neither good nor evil, they sat at the edges of the world and watched, taking in its comings and goings. At times, they dabbled in the arcane arts, regarding themselves as the quiet warlocks of the Ether. Information was their trade, and knowledge was their bread and butter. For research purposes, more often than not—Shadow People loved to experiment and were said to be the oldest sources of knowledge in the universe.
“You didn’t have to come with me, Alaric,” Finn added as he looked around the abandoned structures.
“Are you kidding me? I always have to come with you. I just don’t understand why you think this is reasonable. We have our own sources; we don’t need their help.”
“Our sources are about as discreet as a train wreck,” Finn mused.
They weren’t always, but it was often enough. That was the angels’ way: eliminate the troublemakers, ask questions later. But if Amelia was somehow pulled into something that involved her being watched—followed, even—by some mysterious creature, then discovering the source would be a delicate matter to entrust to the angels. “I can’t risk them causing a fuss and drawing attention to us.”
“So, your first move out of the park is to hire a shadow person?”
“Don’t be ridiculous, I’m not hiring anyone,” Finn answered calmly. “Stop worrying, Alaric. I’m not taking any worthless risks, nor am I losing my instincts to what you’re thinking—I know exactly what I’m doing.”
“What you’re doing is letting some little kid get inside your head,” he huffed. “Like we needed the attention from Shadows, of all people...”
Annoyance whipped through him, and Finn let out a heavy sigh as he stopped, facing his partner. “If you don’t understand my motives, then by all means, leave. I absolutely do not need your help. Bitching in my ear is having the opposite effect of what you came here for.”
In his annoyance and frustration, Finn knew that Alaric could inadvertently draw attention to Amelia. Meanwhile, he had no intention of mentioning her at all—that was key to the impending conversation. If the Shadow People weren’t aware of her yet, then there was no need to make them aware. Finn would skirt around the topic, keeping the attention on him—he was with her at the museum, after all. He could very well be the subject in question, even if Alice mentioned that the creature appeared to be facing Amelia predominately. But she was just a human, what could anyone possibly want with her?
Alaric was left standing as Finn walked away. It’d been some time since he addressed his friend so coldly, but the tone was necessary. Because if there was one thing that Alaric lacked—not unlike other lower-ranking angels—it was refinement. That and composure, both of which were necessary at the moment. Finn knew that in Alaric’s mind, the situation required action, not thought. If he had his way, they’d likely haul in every demon in the district for questioning. Call in the muscle power of the angels to deal with any consequences that followed.
Finn took a deep breath, looking around as he meandered through the desolate area. This whole part of the countryside was barren, utterly stripped of life. Even the road that led there was cracked and ruined, with bare trees lining the empty hills. The cloudy skies and blanket of snow surrounding the farm fed the eerie atmosphere, lending themselves to his unease
Finn stopped at the center of the farm and pursed his lips a bit. A quiet, haunting whistle escaped him. It didn’t reverberate through the air—instead, the noise traveled through the Ether—but the air still felt its thrums. He watched the multitude of naked tree branches that shook in response.
Shadow People were hard to find at the best of times, but they were extremely reactive to an angel’s power. Celestial magic was the rarest, and the most potent. The third time appeared to be the charm, and they couldn’t hold back any further.
Finn waited for a time before trying again. On his third attempt, he finally felt them—the subtle, indicative movements rippling in the barn.
Snow crunched under their feet as Finn approached the building, warily followed by his partner. It was neither the largest nor the most comfortable-looking building of the bunch. All in all, it was entirely inconspicuous, nestled at the far end of the farm—consistent with how the Shadow People preferred to live. Theirs was a simple, mundane existence in the blind eye
s of the world, floating along the currents of time.
Finn had to be careful. Very careful.
Of course, nothing could be done about it if they already knew about his bond with Amelia. But if they didn’t, Shadow People couldn’t see into the past—she would simply appear to be a mortal woman that he cared for without the implications of the bond. That was the best scenario, second to their not knowing about her at all.
The rusty door creaked as Finn pushed it open, met with the staleness of the closed-off space. Boards were missing in the walls, allowing a bit of the cloudy daytime ambiance to trickle in. The only sound inside was that of his boots scraping against the earthen floor, but the Shadow People were there—he could feel it. They were likely hiding in the upper levels, or inside the cracks splitting the rotten wood. Perhaps they were tinkering with something in their own dark dimension, pausing only to rear their heads at the intruders that had just walked in.
There was a stir, a lick of a breeze against his cheek. Finn heard his name whispered in the air—his real name, which had no sound or letters in any human language.
“Call me Finn,” his voice boomed as he traced the sources of the echoing sound.
A single voice whispered his name again, drowning out the rest. It drawled darkly, slyly, permeating the darkness with its musical tone, “We know who you are.”
“No need for introductions, then,” he said. Short and to the point. “Do you know why I’m here?”
There was silence for a moment, followed by the resounding chorus of agreement that slithered along the walls.
“Then we’ll make quick work of this,” Finn continued. With Amelia’s safety at the forefront of his mind, he pushed her to the back—where he wouldn’t let slip her name. “I believe I’m being followed. If it is the case, I want to know who and why, and what they know of me.”
“So many wants,” a second, pitchy voice mocked him. “Information is a pricey gift, little angel.”
Finn glared at the darkness, figuring as much. “Tell me what you want.”
“What we want?” the voices lilted together.
The words resonated through space, as though they were discussing it amongst themselves, and the room grew still and silent for a time. Finn’s eyes darted from corner to corner until a clinking noise broke the silence, drawing his gaze downward. A little cylinder—a vial—rolled toward him over the bits of straw and stone. He picked it up, turning it over in his hand.
Of course—he knew what it meant.
Finn glanced at the shadows and gripped it tight, the vial filling with blood against his skin. Blood laden with celestial properties was invaluable to the Shadow People.
The liquid shimmered as he held it up. “That enough for you?”
Finn tossed it into the air, watching as it glinted brightly through a weak ray of light from the outside. It disappeared into the darkness without making a sound. And in the silence that ensued, his patience wore thinner and thinner as he scanned the shadows of the barn expectantly.
“Well?” he demanded.
“So pretty,” a third voice murmured in the corner above his head. One look back revealed Alaric standing in the corner, grimacing at the scene.
The first voice spoke again, “The creature you seek is seeking you.”
“It’s seeking me?” A muscle feathered through Finn’s jaw. “What is this creature?”
“The faceless one.”
“Is that its name? What manner of being has no face?”
“A good question.”
“Does that mean you don’t know?” Finn was getting agitated. “If it’s not a conventional creature, then dealing with it will require unconventional methods, isn’t that right?”
The voices grew pensive and distant. “It seeks a drop of water from the tar.”
This conversation was the first dealing Finn had ever had with the Shadow People, and he wondered if others also received such clipped, scattered answers.
“The hell is that supposed to mean?” He didn’t hide his annoyance. “I didn’t come here for pretentious riddles.”
The voice behind him chided, “We’ve told you what you need to know.”
Finn balled his hands into fists. “Really? Because I feel I’ve made this trip for nothing.” He shot his partner a sidelong glance when they didn’t respond. “I guess you were right.” Alaric grinned humorlessly.
Finn huffed, merely turning on his heel and exiting the barn without another word. What a stupidly wasteful insult to his time—he couldn’t believe how useless they were.
Finn grumbled as Alaric appeared by his side, “This was fucking pointless.”
“Well, no...” Alaric replied gravely. “Not entirely.”
“What do you mean?”
“Now we know that something’s going on.” He looked sullenly at Finn. “I’m sorry. I know I was annoying earlier. But now we know that there’s something to look out for—I just don’t know where to begin to find out about it.”
“My guess was the Shadow People.” Finn rolled his eyes. “That worked out.”
“It was a good try.”
Finn grew silent as he contemplated it. “Alice said that the creature had dark hair.”
His partner’s gaze swept to him. “Like Alastair?”
“It’s not him. If this concerns the demons, they might be a lead on what or who is new in town,” Finn answered. “We could start there, quietly. See if anyone’s heard anything.”
“Great.” Alaric sighed heavily. “Demons. Goodbye sleep.”
“Yeah...” He pressed his lips together. “Goodbye, sleep.”
Dark things liked to play at night, after all.
Chapter Ten
Amelia stood patiently with the bag in her hands, waiting for Pete to acknowledge her. This was her second attempt at letting him know that she was leaving, albeit earlier than usual. There were several commitments at play: first, she’d be coaching tonight, so she took a morning shift. Second, Finn was going on a business trip and invited her to his office for lunch.
“Pete,” she droned reluctantly, eyeing him as he flew across the bar.
The restaurant was busy, given the number of new hires struggling to keep up, so the foul mood was understandable. Still, the man’s inability to manage his stress without snapping at someone was astonishing, and he obviously didn’t like her leaving in the middle of a rush. It didn’t matter that she warned him well in advance, or that she was trying to respect the policy of checking in before heading out.
Finally, Pete glanced at her. “Yeah, okay, just go,” he muttered gruffly, waving her off before continuing.
Amelia remained rooted in place for a moment, her shoulders dropping annoyedly. She rolled her eyes as she headed toward the door, having killed the impulse to apologize for leaving at an inconvenient time.
In the beginning, service work had required a bit of an adjustment period for Amelia. Rude patrons were one thing, but supervisors’ attitudes were what she loathed the most about working for someone else—namely, being the recipient of their stress and tempers. She’d gone through two other managers before Pete, and they all seemed to share this characteristic. For some incomprehensible reason, no one was able to control themselves. It was almost unkind.
With an irritated sigh, Amelia left the bar. Blocks away, she found herself in front of Orchard Enterprises—a tall, harrowing skyscraper that glinted in the sparse bit of sunlight they’d gotten that day. Finn had previously suggested that she visit but had never outwardly invited her to the office before. It was a bit nerve-wracking, even to be standing just outside. It felt akin to entering a private space, feeling the need to impress once she was inside—though they continued to be unassuming ‘friends,’ after all this time.
‘Friends’ that frequently called and wrote each other throughout the day, with nothing in particular to say. On Finn’s end, it was always a brief, innocent check-in in between meetings, though it was undoubtedly more than any friend had ever d
one. Never mind the fact that he visited her when she was ill and went on to spend the night—which, as he predicted, did not make him sick. Now and again, the effort became reciprocal, in other ways. Amelia was the perfect person to complain to about work matters, after all. He’d be hard-pressed to find someone more sympathetic to them.
Finn hadn’t written to her that morning to confirm, nor had he responded to her last text. Even as she strode into his building, Amelia felt a bit unsure of herself, heels clicking as she crossed the glossy lobby to the front desk. Two pairs of electronically controlled gates flashed at her, separating the space from the elevators. The extra security might have been intimidating to a newcomer, had her father’s building not implemented similar safety precautions years ago.
A middle-aged, bespectacled woman dragged her gaze up to meet Amelia, while she plopped her arms down on the granite counter. “Hi,” she smiled friendlily, glancing at the woman’s name tag—Angela. “I’m here to see Finn Regis.”
“Do you have an appointment?”
“I didn’t make one. I’m a friend of his, and he invited me to stop by.
Angela leaned back in her chair unenthusiastically, double-clicking a file on her desktop. “What’s your name?” she droned as an excel sheet opened up.
Amelia wondered if she treated all their guests with the same countenance. “Amelia Varis.”
Angela scanned the document. “I don’t have you listed as a company guest.”
She huffed, wondering how Finn had managed to forget that detail—or how he imagined she’d get into the building without being listed as a guest.
A sudden grimness weighed her down. “Try Var Hart. Amelia var Hart.”
Angela checked again, scanning the list. Amelia knew she found it when her eyebrow quirked, zapping some life into her sullen features. “Can I see some ID?”
“Okay,” her answer was clipped. The friendliness was gone—only a bit of it remained in the recesses of her mood. Amelia was glad that she kept the license that had her full name on it, though she only ever produced it on a need-to-know basis.